Heaven and Hell
by NerdySpaceBean
Summary: Something that the fandom agrees on is that Balthazar was amazing, and that he probably isn't dead. I think that Brady the demon deserved much more screen-time too. And thus, I present you with this fanfic. Basically, Brady and Balthazar both survive and decide to build a nightclub. Rated T because I'm paranoid. (Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of the characters.)
1. Chapter 1: Brady's Strange Saviour

Tyson Brady stood against the rough brick wall of the alleyway, the intense cold against his back penetrating deep into his bones. He couldn't feel it, of course. Demons couldn't. He did, however, feel the intimidating presence of the demon-killing knife Sam Winchester was wielding, a glint of reflected moonlight dancing threateningly before his eyes as the Winchester advanced slowly towards him. Brady knew he should probably be careful, since the knife could kill him with a mere stab, especially with Sam holding it, but he didn't really care. His main priority, now that the Winchesters had coaxed the location of the next Horseman from him, and Crowley had blackmailed him into eternal torture, was to irritate and provoke the youngest Winchester as much as possible. So what if that was catalytic to his death? He had nothing to lose.

Sam glared hatefully at the demon as he ran through a long, insulting speech, mentioning how things going wrong were Sam's own fault due to him allowing demons to enter his life and trusting them. Brady honestly thought his attempts to get Sam angry were fruitless; Sam exuded an air of general self-control as he remained silent, however Brady was proven wrong when he started to bring up similarities between Sam and demons. That really struck a nerve.

"…deep down, you know you're just like us." At that comment, Brady smiled malevolently before lunging at Sam to get a reaction out of him, and he did: Sam nicked Brady slightly with the knife, yet surely enough that it inflicted pain. Brady continued his goading. "Maybe you hate us so much because you hate what you see every time you look in the mirror. You ever think of that?!" Brady laughed clearly and cruelly at his smart comment and the look of pure fury blossoming rapidly on the younger Winchester's face. "Maybe the only difference between you and a demon… is your hell is right here."

At those final words, Sam speared the demon's stomach with Ruby's knife, twisting the blade agonizingly as Brady gasped helplessly, his vessel emitting flashes of pink light as his life drained away fast. The corners of Sam's lips twitched up as he revelled in the murder of the one who he had trusted all those years at school, who had betrayed him and caused the death of his girlfriend. The demon slumped to the ground, dead, like a sack of immobile entrails, his features still contorted with the pain of the injury and shock of defeat.

"Interesting theory." Sam Winchester mused triumphantly as he strolled away, past his slightly concerned brother and over the line of salt that prevented Brady's escape. He never looked back once. After a brief moment of wary hesitation, Dean followed his younger sibling after running his angst-dulled green eyes over the demon's seemingly lifeless body.

As Brady's eyes glazed over, his thoughts turned to where he would go next; if there even was an afterlife for twisted and corrupted souls. He knew he wouldn't go to Heaven for sure – everyone knew that was reserved for angels and humans who hadn't sold their soul for some trivial matter. There were rumours of Purgatory, where centuries worth of monster's souls resided, however Brady didn't personally believe that was true, and if it was, there was no guarantee he would be sent there; he wasn't a monster, after all. Just a demonic soul. Some claimed that demons returned to Hell for eternity – maybe that was his destiny, but he hoped not, since Lucifer's gang would hunt him down and torture him for the rest of his death, thanks to Crowley. _Who cares?_ Brady thought as he felt his vessel lose consciousness from blood loss. What matters is that he did his job; he helped the Horsemen of the Apocalypse for as long as he could, and managed to infuriate good old Sammy enough to satisfy him. So what if he gave away the location of Pestilence? That was their own problem, not his. Okay, it _was _his problem, but not anymore.

The demon's final thoughts as he faded into blackness were of satisfaction and contentment when he realised he had nothing to worry about. He was still kind of frustrated about Crowley of course, but he figured there was nothing he could do about it if he did go to Hell. _If_.

A few minutes later, just when Brady thought he had drifted into the comforting yet ambiguous arms of Death, he jolted awake. Was he in the afterlife already, wherever that was? No, he was still slumped on the cold, wet gravel of the alleyway, surrounded by autumn-browned leaves and the suffocating darkness of night. It must have been his vessel's brain having a final spasm as it shut down. However, during that moment, Brady realised, with a strange sense of clarity, that he didn't want to die. He still had the chance to save himself. Plus, no-one knew he was still alive, so he wouldn't be hassled by Lucifer's loyalists, or any Winchesters.

Brady couldn't smoke out of his vessel, since he still had Crowley's Binding Link carved into his chest, but his demon mojo had already attempted to close up the wound, though it was nowhere near enough to prevent excessive amounts of red liquid oozing out of him. But it was a start. Pulling himself mid-way up with his arms, the demon dragged himself along the ground, stones and generic street debris scratching into his skin, but he ignored the insignificant additions to the pain he was in. Brady had no clue where to go, since Hell was out-of-bounds for him, yet he figured he could probably find an abandoned house or something to hide out in while he healed and got his strength back.

Taking note of his self-recommending advice, Brady half-crawled, half-scuttled along the floor. Although the salt line that Dean had created would usually trap him in his 'death' scene, the harsh wind had cut straight through it, scattering the white crystals in every direction. Since this no longer was an obstacle, the demon edged past the dispersed salt with ease. Once he had made it to a few streets away, Brady decided that would be the appropriate place to find a hide-out. The buildings surrounding him emanated a sinister vibe, which naturally attracted a demon. That and the fact that they appeared run-down and neglected made them the perfect hiding place.

Scooting into the back door, Brady found himself in what seemed to be a basement full of dilapidated shelves, on which sat many ancient boxes and dust-covered artefacts. The demon just overlooked them as he settled in a corner, stretching his legs out as he examined his wound closer. It was pretty much the same as when he'd regained consciousness, apart from his shirt was completely soaked in blood now; more blood had been lost due to the movement of getting there. The healing of the injury had come to a complete standstill, as if his mojo had just given up even trying to mend something that simply couldn't be fixed.

Brady sat hunched in the corner of the dank room for minutes that soon turned into hours, waiting for his mojo to 'recharge', not quite knowing what to do other than rest. After what felt like days, he heard footsteps rather audaciously headed towards the door (not the one Brady had arrived through, another one at the opposite end of the room, which he assumed led to the rest of the building). Despite his desire to escape, the demon was far too weak to even stand up, let alone make a daring dash across the room and through the other door before his visitor caught him. Instead, Brady simply remained situated in his corner – what he had come to think of as his place of comfort.

As the footsteps approached, the demon also detected whistling coming from the same direction. Whoever it was apparently was whistling the tune of… Copacabana? They were clearly harmless, probably just a caretaker. Brady was mistaken – the place must have been inhabited after all. After a brief moment of tension, the person to whom the whistling belonged revealed themselves as the door swung open dramatically.

Strutting confidently through the door, a V-neck clad man in his mid-forties continued his nonchalant tune a few seconds before he noticed the demon crouching silently (or as quietly as he could – his breathing was still erratic due to his near-fatal wound) in the corner. On top of his V-neck, the man wore a velvety black suit jacket that was as suave as a salacious salamander, and in his hand was a glass of the finest whiskey, the colour of solidified sap from a flourishing oak tree. As the man's ice blue eyes scanned the room, Brady's draining condition jumped out at him immediately, and he stopped in his tracks.

"Ah, a visitor! How nice. So what have you come for: sex or stolen goods?" He spoke clearly in a posh British accent dripping with sarcasm. This was obvious due to the fact that it was evident that the demon was badly injured and required assistance. Brady remained silent, too weak to speak or even glare at the arrogant man.

"None of the above, I see. Well, I can see you got yourself into some petty fight – a hunter, judging by the stab wound. If it were a demon, you'd likely be dead already. Same with an angel." He wandered insouciantly over to Brady, examining his wound from a distance before his facial expression clouded over with confusion. "How did you find my humble abode, anyway? It's very well-disguised; I have to say I'm impressed… Ah, you were just passing by and needed a place to hide, didn't you?" The man resolved as his eyes followed the trail of blood leading from the back door. At this point, Brady decided he needed to at least try and say something to the owner of his hide-out.

"You… angel…" Those were the only words the demon could spit out before he erupted into a fit of coughing that brought up blood. But he was persistent. "What… are you… doing… here?" Brady asked inquisitively, a trickle of red gradually travelling down his chin, one single droplet hanging from it.

"I kind of own this place, darling. It's my happy place." The man brushed off Brady's angel remark, neither denying it nor confirming it. Because of the man's reluctance to pursue the subject, the demon assumed he was in fact an angel. He would normally be able to see his true form, but seeing as his mojo was running out, everything in general was blurry and ambiguous.

"I…" Brady's sentence was cut even shorter the second time as he had an even more severe coughing fit, almost choking on blood this time. The angel stared down at him, concerned, which was odd for him, since he usually had an extremely apathetic attitude, especially towards demons. After a moment, he crouched down beside him, inspecting the injury close-up, which revealed the fatality of the wound. Frowning, the angel laid his hands on the demons stomach, directly above the place where Ruby's knife had entered. Almost straight away, a pure white light emanated from beneath his hands coupled with a high-pitched noise, knitting the open wound together as if it hadn't been there in the first place. Brady – whose eyes had been half-closed due to pain and lack of strength – opened his newly-brightened eyes fully and breathed in deeply, revelling in his renewed condition. He gazed up at the angel, gratitude yet bewilderment evident in his expression. The demon simply couldn't comprehend the idea of an angel actually healing him.

"Yeah, on any other day I'd be quite happy to leave you alone to die there, or even hasten the process, but I guess you're lucky. You caught me in a good mood." The man straightened up, offering a hand to Brady, who was still fairly startled at the turn of events. Thousands of questions were racing around in the demon's mind, so he blurted out the first one to surface above the others.

"Why are you here though? I mean, shouldn't you be with the other angels, trying to stop Lucifer or something?" It was a valid question, but one the demon didn't think the angel would be willing to answer. He was right.

"First of all, I don't recall ever saying I was an angel. Secondly, it's none of your business." Conjuring up another glass of alcohol (this time champagne), the angel sipped at it, sighing contentedly at the satisfying fizz of bubbles swishing around his mouth. "I'm a hedonist, dear. I prefer to indulge myself in the pleasures of life. You're free to join me, if you wish, of course-"

"Oh, no, I couldn't. Besides, wouldn't it be slightly awkward, you know…" Brady trailed off, his typically supercilious persona completely dissipated after the whole demon-being-healed-by-an-angel ordeal.

"Your loss." The angel shrugged, pretending not to be hurt after his rejection. "Well, you know where the door is. Actually, I'd get cleaned up quick if I were you. Walking down the street covered in blood doesn't go down well these days, I believe." Brady briefly glanced down at his suspicious-looking suit, internally agreeing with the man. "I'd also appreciate it if you, you know, kept quiet about this place. I dislike getting involved in the affairs of others, angels in particular, and if they knew where I was…" The way the angel trailed off seemed threatening, despite him being the one in danger if Brady did decide to rat him out. But the demon nodded anyway.

"Okay, well it was nice meeting you – I tell a lie, it wasn't really. Adios." The man's body language and posture made it obvious he was about to teleport away, but the demon still had so many questions to ask. He just couldn't let him go, not yet. Brady hadn't even thanked him for helping him. Not that that was his style anyway.

"Wait - hold on a second!" The angel turned to look at him expectantly. "You haven't even told me your name!"

"Now, that would be telling." Winking at the demon, the man in the V-neck vanished, taking his glass of champagne with him. Brady sighed, exasperated.

"Damn it." He grumbled, standing still for a moment, reflecting on the past few minutes, before finally heading towards the door.


	2. Chapter 2: Balthazar's New Start

Approximately One Year Later…

Castiel turned away from Balthazar, the broken look in his eyes revealing the sadness and disappointment in his brother for betraying him so cruelly. Balthazar stood a few steps behind, part of him knowing he had been found out by the megalomaniac angel, yet part of him still hoping they could work it out: forgive each other, even. They were best friends, after all. Had been for practically all their lives. Perhaps that was part of the reason how Castiel knew his closest brother, best friend, and the man he had fought side by side with so many times had grassed on him to the Winchesters. Couldn't the pleasure-seeking angel just leave it? Couldn't he just let him go on with his plan to become their new God? The angels needed a leader, since their father didn't seem to be bothered anymore. The humans, too. And he was the best choice, being the only one who was actually prepared to step up to the responsibilities of leadership(apart from Raphael, but he/she didn't count). But no. He just had to interfere, couldn't trust him enough. What kind of friend does that?

In the background, Balthazar stood with his hands by his sides as opposed to them being occupied with a glass of some kind of alcohol, fidgeting nervously yet barely noticeably. His eyes crinkled and his forehead wrinkled, blue eyes full of concern for his brother and also his own well-being. The angel didn't think his best friend would go as far as to disown or kill him for his traitorous ways, however he thought to himself: did he really know Castiel anymore? A mere few weeks ago he would never have dreamed that the seemingly innocent seraph would work so closely with a demon, least of all the King of Hell, so who's to say he wouldn't kill for him? Balthazar couldn't ask him this directly, of course, as that would blow his cover entirely, so he asked a somewhat simpler question, despite the amount of meaning behind it.

"Castiel?" He hesitated, unsure whether as to go on. "Are you alright?" The brief moment of silence between the comrades went on for eternity before Castiel finally answered.

"First Sam and Dean, and now this. I'm doing my best in impossible circumstances. My friends, they abandon me, plot against me. It's difficult to understand." Castiel squinted his eyes, as if he genuinely couldn't understand what was wrong with his destructive and manipulative plans, still with his back facing towards his brother. Meanwhile, Balthazar gulped, almost imperceptibly. Clearly his concern for his safety, for everyone's safety was spiralling out of control. Despite that, the angel still attempted to cover his disloyalty with a terribly ironic and therefore revealing remark.

"Well, you've – you've always got little old me." Balthazar stammered, offering an anxious smile. After the sound of flapping wings – teleportation – Castiel appeared right behind his best friend, penetrating his back with an angel blade. The stone cold metal protruded out from Balthazar's stomach as he groaned slightly in pain, staring in disbelief at the blade sticking out of his body.

"Yes, I'll always have you." Castiel muttered near Balthazar's ear as a final twinkle of beautiful celestial blue glimmered in his eyes.

"Cas…" The angel whispered as a look of complete and utter shock and the most profound melancholy took hold in the lines of his face. As Castiel pulled out the blade, the brightest of white lights exploded from the vessel, filling the entire building with its intensity and causing every window to smash. The power-crazy angel stared down at the body of his fallen brother with remorse, distantly regretting his murder, yet knowing it was for the greater good. His definition of the greater good, anyhow.

What Cas didn't know was that Balthazar wasn't quite dead yet. Sure, his injury was still emitting a soft white light, humming quietly and stung like hell, but it hadn't proved fatal as of yet. The light that had erupted was his angelic grace having an override when it didn't know what to do, so it simply all escaped through the stab wound. His grace would recharge pretty soon, but not soon enough for Balthazar to heal himself, or even teleport away. And that was if he didn't die in the meantime. In order to prevent that from happening, the angel realised it was crucial for him to escape as soon as possible, yet he couldn't without Castiel noticing, so he waited a few precious minutes. It's truly fascinating how such a small amount of time turns into an eternity when it's a matter of life and death.

When those golden minutes had elapsed, when Balthazar didn't think he could hang on any longer, the King of Hell appeared and struck up a rather tense conversation with the megalomaniac. Screams resounded outside the building as black demon smoke smothered the windows, but the dying angel barely acknowledged it as he crawled away as hastily as possible. Crowley didn't see him as he was on the other side of a table that obscured his view of him, and Castiel obviously had more important things on his mind.

Balthazar emerged from the back door of the old building, collapsing down a couple of dusty stone steps preceding the exit. He proceeded to crawl away, managing to clear himself of Castiel's general vicinity. The angel found himself on the outskirts of a forest, which was rather an appropriate hiding place. There was nothing he could do until his grace recharged, so he pulled himself over to a particularly tall, wide tree that had a dying-angel-sized hole inside it. The tree itself was rather eerie, looming over Balthazar with its skeletal branches casting shadows that didn't need much imagination to be perceived as a petrifying creature of the night.

Settling not so comfortably in the tree, the angel's thoughts drifted as he fell unconscious. When he was eventually healed, he would have to build a whole new series of hideouts, thanks to his so-called 'best friend' rudely murdering him, as there was no way he was letting himself be detected by Castiel. The angel's megalomaniac dreams and ambitions were turning him psychotic for sure, so Balthazar knew he was completely and utterly done for if Cas did hunt him down. He would have to make himself entirely untraceable. There was absolutely no way he was getting involved in the affairs of any angels either, whether they were on Raphael's side or Castiel's side. They'd be no fun, what with all the almost second apocalyptic chaos going on in Heaven and on Earth now too, with the mess Cas was making. Balthazar was definitely not contacting the Winchester boys again either; despite the fun he could have playing with them (or to be more succinct, irritating them), they'd just reveal his alive-ness to Castiel, Dean most of all. Plus, that was more Gabriel's game, and even in the trickster's death, Balthazar couldn't bring himself to imitate his act. Just at the point where real thoughts of consciousness turned into intangible dreams of unconsciousness, the angel simply decided he would return to his previous hedonistic lifestyle, since it was actually a great witness protection program, and he had bucket-loads of amusement with it.

When Balthazar eventually awoke back in reality, it was daytime. The forest looked significantly less malicious in the sunlight; photons of light reflected off droplets of dew that balanced precariously on blade of grass and the jewel-like green leaves shrouded any visitors (aka Balthazar) in comfort and safety. Peering anxiously down at his wound, the angel noticed that his skin had smoothed over perfectly where the blade had inflicted his near-fatal injury. This meant that his grace must have recharged and set to work healing him rapidly during his rest. Balthazar stood up unsteadily, realising that the pain had receded completely. Since his condition was so brilliantly flawless, the angel concluded that he should be capable of most of his original angelic powers, furthermore recognising the fact that he could teleport again.

A moment later, Balthazar disappeared then reappeared in an arbitrary street far away from Crowley's building, therefore Castiel also. He didn't think anyone would recognise him, since it was nowhere near any of his hideouts or those of other angels/demons/hunters, so it was the perfect place to start with. The street itself was quite crowded, as Balthazar's tactic was to hide in plain sight, so he began to plough through the rapidly approaching encore of human beings going about their daily lives. Even the mere scent of them made the angel's stomach turn. Gosh, he couldn't stand humans.

After walking for a few minutes, Balthazar felt a guy shove past him roughly and looked up to glare at him. The man continued on, a black cap pulled down over his face, but obviously felt the angel's eyes on him, for he glanced up briefly, then halted his steps. When Balthazar saw the guy in full detail, his true form was revealed to his celestial eyes: a demonic form. The demon similarly perceived the angel's true form, and recognised him instantly, but for Balthazar it took an extra few seconds.

"You…" The demon spoke in awe, staring confusedly at Balthazar. He couldn't let the angel slip through his fingers a second time without knowing more about him. "You're-you… I remember you."

Balthazar remembered him too now, remembered him as the demon that he had healed around a year ago in the basement of probably his favourite hideout. His mind flicked back to that night, when he had been so drunk on happiness he had actually saved a demon's life out of the good of his heart and let him go. Or had he disappeared before the demon took off? He couldn't remember too clearly.

"Ah, yes. You're that little scallywag who decided to mess up the floor of my best hijacked building with blood that I, for some confounded reason, decided to help. Yes, it's such a pleasure to meet you again." The angel's sarcastic voice brought the demon's memory flooding back of all those nights ago. The conversation came to an awkward pause as neither of them knew what to say. They simply stood in the middle of the pavement as people dodged past them. Noticing this, Balthazar scooted to the edge of the path, the demon soon following him.

"Well? Are we done here?" The angel was significantly more facetious than in their previous meeting, the demon acknowledged. He replied by changing the subject so the angel wouldn't leave as suddenly as he did before.

"I think you should listen to your own advice, you know." The demon claimed.

"Oh? And what's that?" Balthazar asked, getting rather irritated now. There was no need for the demon to have a fully-fledged conversation with him – they'd only spent a couple of minutes in each other's company one year ago, which was hardly enough to build a friendship on. If that was what the demon was after.

"What you said before about not wandering about wearing a gore-splattered suit. That looks pretty obvious to me." The demon remarked pointedly, his gaze travelling down to Balthazar's bloodied V-neck shirt, the one he remembered clear as day.

"Damn." The angel cursed as he consciously pulled his suit jacket over the ragged hole. "Right. Well, it has been ever so nice chin-wagging with you, but I have rather a lot to do, so bye."

"Not again…" Shaking his head, the demon stared disapprovingly at Balthazar.

"Erm, sorry?"

"You're not leaving again. What's your name?"

"None of your business. Look, I really, _really_ need to be off. All my hideouts are currently corrupted so I need a new place. I practically have to rebuild my life, so if you'll excuse me-" The angel had no idea why he was telling the demon all of this, but he was interrupted before he could say anymore.

"You need a place to stay? I, um… I recently bought an apartment. It's a few streets away; I'm actually headed there now. I've not really spoken to anyone since last year, so it's been a little lonely… I could use a flatmate." Shuffling his feet nervously, the demon also couldn't understand why he was inviting an angel – an_ angel_, above all things – to be his flatmate, but he kind of liked the guy, despite his obnoxiousness. After another uncomfortable moment of silence, the demon realised he himself hadn't told the angel his name.

"Name's Brady, by the way." Brady held out his hand for Balthazar to shake, but the angel remained stoic.

"Hmm… I certainly need somewhere to stay, even if it's only for a couple of days. You know what, I might just take you up on that offer. I'm… Balthazar." The brief moment of hesitation and lack of offering his hand to shake showed the angel wasn't quite trusting of Brady yet. Then again, he wasn't an easily trusting person in general. Plus, Brady was a demon, after all. Which made Balthazar think: why on Earth, in Heaven and Hell was he going to be sharing a flat with a demon? He didn't have the foggiest, however he figured Brady would loosen up a bit and have a bit of fun with him – since Balthazar was restarting his previous lifestyle, he was quite sure he would quickly return to his pleasure-seeking ways, and he did used to enjoy lots of company, no matter what species they were. In fact, there was one time that a shape-shifter, a vampire and a rugaru were all part of a ménage à… trois, quatre, cinq, six… he wasn't quite sure how many. Nevertheless, it was certainly… interesting. Realising his mind was drifting, Balthazar blinked and noticed Brady staring at him expectantly.

"So, do you want to see the flat?" The demon raised his eyebrows in question.

"Of course, I'll need to get a change of clothes anyway. Um, do you have any similar shirts to this? It's my signature outfit, if you like. I prefer to stay dressed like this." Balthazar stated, making a mental note of leaving the demon if he didn't give him access to another V-neck.

"Sure! Let's go, shall we?" Advancing through the crowd and across the street, the angel and demon made their way to Brady's apartment, both still slightly wary of one another, yet excited for their new adventure.


	3. Chapter 3: Flatmate Bonding Time

"Nice place." Balthazar commented on arrival. "I mean, it could do with a bit more colour, but to be honest I add that just by being here." He winked at Brady.

"Thanks, I guess. Obviously it needs tidying up a bit, but I can sort that out." The demon stated, throwing the odd object across the room and arranging the pillows on his sofa. The lounge was indeed a comfortable room, a fluffy white rug smothering the laminated floor, the smooth cream walls adorned with arbitrary canvas paintings such as black and white flowers or cars. Bookcases stood like sentinel guards in intervals along the wall, decorated with cookery books that appeared to never have been opened, but mostly ornaments. A neat and freshly dusted kitchen was en suite to the living room, which contained organised wooden cupboards that surrounded a grey speckled breakfast bar. The floor was flagged with stone tiles, yet still remained homely. The angel liked it a lot.

"Oh, no need. It's spotless already. Plus, a bit of mess makes a place liveable, don't you think?" Balthazar sighed contentedly as he crashed out on the sofa, kicking his shoes off and stretching his legs out on the coffee table. He was the picture of relaxation and insouciance, especially when he closed his eyes restfully.

"Can you not do that?" Brady frowned at the angel.

"Why? I don't believe I'm harming anybody." Remaining where he was, Balthazar seemed to be making a point of his superiority. "Oh, please don't tell me you're the 'feet off the coffee table' type. That would be unfortunate."

"No. You just seem to be forgetting that you still have blood all over your jacket."

"Ah." The angel's eyes opened and he sat up abruptly before relaxing again almost immediately. He seemed to want to do the complete opposite of what his new demonic flatmate required of him. Gazing up at Brady with a cheeky glint in his eyes, he made another comment to continue winding him up. "Hmm… Consider it payback, darling." Balthazar grinned the most mischievous grin the demon had ever seen. And he had seen many, what with seeing a lot of demons torturing souls down below for a large portion of his life.

Brady simply rolled his eyes and left the angel to it. There wasn't much he could do about the angel's antics; he soon realised that Balthazar was the kind of person who did his own thing, no matter the consequences. Although the demon would never admit it, he actually liked that aspect of his personality. It was intriguing, not to mention amusing to watch, even if he was on the receiving end of the angel's sarcasm. As a matter of fact, it actually reminded him slightly of his own attitude from the not-so-distant past.

While the demon was wiping down the worktops in the kitchen and just generally cleaning up, Balthazar turned the conversation around to his new flatmate.

"You've changed a lot. Not that I knew you well anyway – you were sort of dying when we met, and I'm assuming you're not like that all the time." The way the angel said the last part made it almost sound like a rhetorical question. Brady treated it as rhetorical, whether it was supposed to be or not, therefore refused to reply. Balthazar continued. "I'm just saying, you know. You used to be a demon-"

"I am still a demon." Brady snapped defensively.

"Touch a nerve, did I?" That final mocking phrase from the ignorant (consequence-wise, at least) angel did it for the demon. Roughly grabbing the front of his shirt, Brady dragged Balthazar off the sofa and slammed him brutally against the wall. Balthazar's ice-blue eyes widened in shock at the turn of events; his cocky attitude made him ignorant of the fact that people (especially demons) might get so wound up by him that they use force. Brady's eyes flicked black as the night as he held the angel in an iron-tight grip, breathing noisily in a deeply furious manner. Neither of them spoke as the demon took time to cool off, as Balthazar didn't want to say anything that might put at risk the loss of his flatmate. He needed him, not only for a place to stay but also because he enjoyed his company, despite the limited time they had spent together. After what felt like days, but what was essentially only a few moments, Brady let go of the angel, but not before one deliberate shove as a warning. Balthazar stayed put for a second, then stepped away from the freshly cracked wall, casually dusting himself off and staring at pieces of plaster that had separated from the outer layer of the foundations of the building. He was rather surprised the landlord/landlady hadn't been alerted, but then again, there were lots of irritatingly loud youths living nearby, so he/she was probably used to it. Brady returned to the kitchen as he calmed down. Meanwhile, Balthazar felt he could finally talk without getting murdered. Again.

"The sexual tension is killing me. Do speak." Surprisingly, the demon refrained from attacking him, instead proceeding to explain his previous lack of demonic mannerisms.

"Since I started my new life in hiding, away from other demons and civilisation in general, I seem to have mellowed slightly. Well, before now, at least. Spending time with an arrogant angel is bound to bring out my aggressive side before long." Folding up the dishcloth, Brady slouched against the kitchen counter as he spoke. The angel was about to sit down on the sofa again, but remembered the reason why they had started arguing in the first place, so decided against it. Instead, he stayed stood up, his arms folded casually yet somewhat guarded, a few steps away from the cracked wall.

"Rude." Balthazar stated, still cocky yet disgruntled after the demon's outburst. He continued regardless of the remaining tension between them. "Hm. I always find it amusing when demons act un-demon-like and befriend angels and such."

"Who said anything about friends? I only took you in as a flatmate. Don't get ahead of yourself, mate." Brady hauled the angel right off his high horse with those few words as Balthazar raised his eyebrows and scoffed at him.

"Well excuse you, Monsieur Douchebag. There's absolutely no need for that cheek. Anyway, I'm going to get myself cleaned up. Won't be a minute." Striding over to the door, the angel pulled off his suit jacket, not looking back at his flatmate.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there tiger!" The demon's urgent voice halted Balthazar as he tried to prevent him from going into the bathroom. "You do realise blood is difficult to wash out, right? And I don't think I actually have a change of clothes for you."

"What do you take me for, a fool? And what do you mean, no change of clothes? You promised!" An extremely hurt expression crossed the angel's face when he discovered Brady's lack of V-necks. He was also rather insulted at the fact that the demon thought he was completely nescient about cleaning blood off of clothes. Demons weren't the only creatures that killed.

"Sorry, but I never said for sure. Come on, we'll go to the laundrette and pick up some clothes for you on the way back." Grabbing Balthazar's jacket out of his hands and stepping in front of him, Brady opened the front door and scurried outside, pulling the angel after him when he didn't immediately follow.

"Oh, please. One does not simply 'pick up clothes on the way back.' If we're buying clothes, we have to make a proper shopping trip out of it." The demon's eyes widened in horror as he realised he was going to have to put up with Balthazar. In a shopping mall. Trying many variations of the same outfit on. For hours.

* * *

><p>"This one is fabulous! And this is an almost perfect replica of my old outfit!" Balthazar dashed about, carrying bundles of shopping bags in the fiftieth shop the unlikely pair had been in, exclaiming excitedly every few seconds as he pointed at and pulled out various items of clothing as fast as lightning. Hurrying after him, Brady desperately struggled to keep up with the angel's infinite energy. He was like a little kid, his eyes lighting up at the sight of a suitable outfit or a new shop to explore, tugging on the demon's sleeve and attempting to get an adequate response from the significantly less enthusiastic flatmate. Although Brady had thought they would only be out for a couple of hours maximum, they had literally been eight hours shopping. Eight. Damn. Hours. The demon was getting extremely agitated, but he could hardly flip out in public. Plus, he knew Balthazar wouldn't rest until he got his clothes. And lots of them. Sighing, Brady dragged a hand through his hair before rubbing his forehead and carried on after the excitable angel.<p>

They were currently in an area of the shop that contained rails upon rails of V-necks, therefore upon seeing them, Balthazar gasped in disbelief and scurried over to them all, running his hands desirably over them. The demon nearly chuckled at the sight, seeing the angel emit the ultimate heart-eyed gaze directed towards the type of shirt he adored so dearly. After he practically drooled over the clothes for a minute or so, a shop assistant strolled over to the pair and addressed the angel.

"I'm very sorry, but we're closing now. If you'd like to buy anything, please take it to the counter immediately."

"What? Oh, yes. Right. Sorry." Balthazar regained his dignity as his tone turned slightly sour before accumulating as many shirts as he could possibly carry. As the angel began striding over to the checkout counter, the young girl (the shop assistant) smiled a false smile before going to stand by the front door of the shop, clearly awaiting the final shopper's departure so she could lock the doors and finish her shift. Once Brady and Balthazar reached the counter, Balthazar conjured up enough money to purchase the clothes and handed it over to the next assistant, along with the twenty or so V-necks which the girl then had to fold and place into shopping bags. Both shop assistants gave him a strange look, and then exchanged a second pointed look between them, but they remained silent. Customers had probably bought weirder things in the past.

"Bloody hell." Balthazar whispered to his companion as the exited the shopping mall, his voice now expressing irritation yet his previous excitement was still bubbling not far under the surface. The automatic doors were too slow for him, so he used his telekinesis that came with the whole 'angel of the Lord' package to speed it up, which revealed more of his impatient side.

"What's up now?" Brady asked, beginning to get more annoyed with the angel. He had nothing to be grumpy about – he'd just bought an entire wardrobe, and then some. If anything, it should be the demon complaining after being hauled through shop after shop after shop for hours on end.

"Humans. They close their shops so early! And for what? Because they need sleep? Pfft, they're so lame. I could have so much more if it weren't for human requirements. In fact, the world would be a better place without them." Gesturing excessively in order to emphasize his point, Balthazar's pace slowed down as they found themselves back on the main street, where it was now clear to see the pitch black night sky instead of being around oppressive fluorescent light in shop windows.

"You're beginning to sound like Lucifer in your old age." Brady replied, the corner of his mouth twitching up. Shooting daggers at him, the angel wiped the smirk off his face with one bitter look. The demon realised he'd struck a nerve. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage later on.

"I need cheering up after that disgracefully premature shop closure. Hey, it's about time for a bit of partying, don't you think?" A dangerous glint appeared in Balthazar's eyes as he changed the subject drastically and grabbed hold of the demon's hand, leading him down the street with a strong purpose evident.

"Wait, we're not going back to the flat if that's what you're thinking. There'd be way too much stuff to clean up in the morning." Due to his mellowed attitude, Brady was noticeably more of a worrier, especially about cleaning up. He'd actually developed a bit of OCD, particularly around his flat. Balthazar picked up on it, and made a mental note to use it as a way of pranking him in the future. Despite that, the angel still held no desire to party in their flat.

"Of course not. We're going to a proper shindig."

Around an hour later, Brady found himself sat awkwardly at a table in a nightclub, fondling a glass of alcohol in front of him. He had no idea what the drink consisted of, only that Balthazar had bought it for his and said it would help him 'loosen up a bit.' This was the exact reason the demon was extremely wary of consuming it. Across the room, barely visible through the thick darkness occasionally interrupted by migraine-inducing flashed of neon light, the angel could be spotted dancing vigorously and chatting up some ladies simultaneously. He had changed clothes into his infamous V-neck and velvety suit jacket in a public bathroom just before they entered the nightclub, and was evidently content to be wearing it again. Shaking his head, Brady despaired for his near future if this was the man he had decided to choose as a companion. The demon's feelings towards Balthazar changed as rapidly as British weather: one moment he was deeply amused and intrigued by his antics, the next he found him incredibly arrogant and irritating. He supposed that's what he deserved, choosing to hang out with an angel. As he looked up from his glass (of which he still refused to drink), Balthazar caught his eye, grinning and gesturing for him to join him. Brady sighed, staying where he was. The angel clearly wasn't giving up on Brady's hidden diva, as he displayed by walking over to him, waving seductively at the girls as he did.

"Come on, darling! Are you seriously telling me you're not in the party mood yet? This place is positively buzzing!" Balthazar yelled above the appallingly loud techno music, but the demon could still barely hear him. Even so, he assumed the angel was trying to persuade him to have fun, so he just shook his head again. But before the ridiculous party animal could have another go, a burly-looking bouncer approached them, a hard and deadly serious expression set in stone on his face. Without a word, his hands clamped down on both of their shoulders and he began to manoeuvre them out of the nightclub. Balthazar complained all the way out, but Brady was honestly relieved to be out of the place.

"Hey-hey! What was that for? We were doing nothing wrong!" The angel exclaimed, completely shocked and uncomprehending of why they had been kicked out. Brady stayed quiet.

"You were being too disruptive. This nightclub is civilised, which is a word that cannot be used to describe you." The guard turned his back on the pair, making it clear that they were most certainly not allowed back in.

"But… You can't do that! That's a naff reason for banning us! What's the real problem? Am I partying too hard for you, hm? WELL?" Balthazar shouted, exasperated at the bouncer. After a moment, he turned to Brady. "You know what? Screw that jerk. We don't need his stupid club anyway. YOU HEAR THAT, PANSY? YOUR CLUB IS STUPID!" But the guard ignored him. He was probably used to such conducts from drunken fools. Not that the angel was drunk, just ticked off. Brady continued to stare humiliated at the angel. He couldn't believe how childish he could be.

"I've got an idea. We don't need that nightclub, or any other, for that matter. Let's make our own. You and me. It'll be a laugh. We'll have the best nightclub in town, in the world. Then who'll be laughing!" Just when the demon thought Balthazar couldn't get more impulsive, he drew a 'let's build a nightclub' card. But he knew better than to question him by now.

"Whatever." Brady replied nonchalantly. He figured the angel would have forgotten about it by tomorrow.

"We'll call it… Heaven and Hell. Get it? What with you being a demon and I being an angel. Ha! I'm a bloody genius!" Balthazar began sauntering down the street yet again, inebriated on his own hyperactivity.

"Honestly. What is he like?" Brady said to himself, before following his strange yet hilarious flatmate.


	4. Chapter 4: Chaos In Heaven And Hell

A few years later, and the nightclub was in full swing. Balthazar hadn't forgotten it after all. The day after the angel had mentioned starting 'Heaven and Hell', he began making preparations for it. They'd gone to view an abandoned old antique shop in the centre of town, and soon after, Balthazar used his angelic mojo to redecorate the place into a whole new concept; on the outside, the paintwork was black with a luminous purple sign made out of many small light bulbs and dotted with silver stars that were not lights yet flickered celestially. The inside was just as fabulous; suave, black leather chairs tucked in neatly around purple circular tables, an expansive dance floor coated in silver and indigo tiles and the most reflective therefore beautiful disco ball hovering overhead. More silver stars were also scattered across the ceiling with the same galaxy-type glow as on the exterior. The bar stretched along the side wall like a surreptitious lilac snake laced with silver patterns, closely guarding an array of alcoholic drinks, the bottles of which glimmered in the dim lighting. Not surprisingly, the angel was entirely full of satisfaction concerning his creation, and positively radiated pride every time he spoke of it, or anyone mentioned it to him. He had also managed to coerce Brady into being the co-manager of the nightclub, against his wishes and every demonic instinct he had. Then again, Balthazar had that effect on people. Plus, he could be very persuasive.

The relationship between the demon and the angel hadn't changed much, to be honest. It was rather amusing, actually: when Brady had first offered a place to stay to Balthazar, the demon had been the one eager for company, and the angel somewhat reluctant, however after getting to know one another better, Balthazar was more than willing to drag Brady with him everywhere he went, and Brady was the one who got fed up of the angel on more than one occasion. But despite their differences, the unlikely duo stuck together and, although neither of them was likely to admit it, they both undeniably enjoyed and benefitted from each other's company.

The nightclub itself was doing extremely well, profit-wise. Many customers of every different species (shape-shifters, demons, vampires, etc.) started arriving once they learned of its existence, and they did have a few regulars, too. No-one got kicked out since no-one was overly disruptive, and every customer had excessive amounts of respect for Balthazar, therefore wouldn't go against his desire for a pleasant place to party and socialize. The angel himself often hit the dance floor and had a chat with the regulars and others, never being seen without a drink in his hand. So, nothing had changed there, then. However, one night he took his drinking a little too far…

It was an ordinary night; the club was slightly busier than usual. Balthazar had just nipped to the toilet as there had been a few complaints of noise and abnormal odours in there while Brady tended to a few angelic customers, who were rare what with angel's personalities and all – hedonism was unusual in any garrison. The demon was coping rather well, despite internally cursing at his business partner for leaving him alone with an entire club full of people. As Balthazar snuck not-so-inconspicuously into the men's room, he heard some suspicious-sounding Latin incantations emanating from the far cubicle. Creeping ever closer, the angel tentatively nudged the cubicle door open, revealing the back of a young female demon, whose head whipped around instantaneously, eyes flicking black. She was huddled around a silver goblet containing ominous red liquid that bubbled and rippled viciously at any faint distraction.

"Now, I don't want any trouble, dear. I mean, of course I could kick your butt if push came to shove, but that won't be necessary. You know there's no sacrificial rituals allowed in this nightclub, demon or not. Let's see… I won't bar you if you pack up now, how's that?" Balthazar smiled patronisingly at the demon as she reluctantly drained the goblet down the toilet before flushing it and packing it away in her rucksack.

"That's better." Striding out of the bathroom, he was met with an unexpected sight. Not just an unexpected sight, a sight that he never in a million years expected to ever see. Before the angel stood another angel, clad in a beige trench coat, under which he wore a black suit and backwards blue tie, with neat, fairly short dark brown hair and the most startlingly blue eyes. That was, of course, not what Balthazar saw; he was graced with the sight of his true form instead. Yes, you guessed it. Before Balthazar stood the angel who 'murdered' him: Castiel.

"Cas…" This was the only word the angel could force to roll from his usually loose tongue at that moment in time.

"Balthazar." His ex-best friend replied in the same monotone in which he always spoke.

"Fancy seeing you here." Balthazar joked after eventually regaining the ability to put a sentence together. His best way of dealing with things was making a laugh out of it, he found. Breaking the long gaze between the once-comrades, Balthazar noticed the one and only Dean Winchester standing beside him, but his face was different: warped and mutilated. Putting two and two together, the angel realised Castiel's boyfriend was now a demon. He briefly wondered how and why that had happened, and why the sincere angel wasn't running (or flying) away from him as fast as he could, but a nanosecond later knew that was a stupid question. Instead, he decided to let it slide, figuring it was probably a long story anyway. Turning back to Cas, Balthazar noticed the angel was on the verge of speaking.

"Balthazar, I know the last time we… spoke… we didn't exactly part on the best of terms, and I can't apologise enough for hurting you the way I did, but-"

"Damn right you can't!" Castiel tilted his head slightly and squinted his eyes as always, looking confused at his friend's strangely light-hearted exclamation, but Balthazar simply slapped him on the shoulder and carried on speaking. "Look, I know that you didn't mean to do what you did, that it was the whole deal with being butt-buddies with Crowley-"

"We weren't-"

"-and your megalomania messing with that innocent little mind of yours that caused your betrayal, so it's fine. Seriously, forget about it. I'm assuming you and your boyfriend here-"

"He's not my-"

"-have come to party, so there's no way I'm gonna be a spoilsport." The angel smiled reassuringly at Cas as he gave up trying to get a word in edgeways before raising his head and peering around the club. "BRADY? Ah, Brady, there you are! Can we get some drinks in for these two? Whatever they'd like, it's on the house." Winking at the pair, Balthazar waltzed over to his own partner behind the bar, whose eyes were wide with fear and anxiety.

"What's wrong? You look edgy." The angel commented, concerned about his flatmate. He had become rather attached to the guy, therefore disliked seeing him nervous.

"It's just- Er, well… I know the angel's your friend and everything but… _His_ friend is sort of the brother of the guy who, you know – nearly killed me. And now he's a demon, there's no telling what he'll do." Glancing gingerly over at Dean and Castiel, Brady stammered the reason for his worry to Balthazar, staring anxiously into his eyes. The angel himself simply rolled his eyes, and then spoke.

"Yes, yes, I know who Sam and Dean Winchester are, thank you very much. As a matter of fact, I actually helped them once upon a time." Balthazar shuddered at the memory. "As for the whole demonic thing, I'm not questioning it. Plus, he's preoccupied with dear Cassie. They didn't come for trouble, I assure you." This visibly comforted Brady; the demon's shoulders relaxed and the hint of perturbation left his eyes. Unfortunately, a whole new level of terror replaced it just a moment later, when Brady noticed the newest arrival. Perched insouciantly at the bar, his intense gaze sweeping the room and faces of every occupant, was the King of Hell.

"Hello boys." Crowley said in his deep, gravelly voice, one corner of his mouth turned upwards in his trademark impertinent smirk that had the power to strike fear (or lust) into the hearts of his acquaintances. Evidently perceiving the dreaded expression on almost everyone's faces (the exception being Balthazar – nothing phased him), the demon uttered the closest thing to assurance he was capable of saying. "Don't worry; I'm quite aware this is neutral ground, so I won't be trying anything… unprincipled. Maybe." Squinting his eyes, the King of Hell sat up, vaguely noticing that everyone in the close proximity (e.g. Castiel, Brady, Dean and Balthazar) was still staring at him suspiciously. "What? I'll have a glass of Craigs, thanks."

"Why are you even here, Crowley?" Dean spoke for the first time since arriving, while Brady prepared the drinks.

"Come now. That's no way to treat a lady. And I don't believe I have to justify myself." Crowley remained seated, showing no signs of budging anytime soon. One could cut the tension with an angel blade.

"Number one rule for arriving: if you're a demon, you have to bring an angel with you, and vice versa." Balthazar claimed passively, as if he had reiterated it many times before. The angel appeared to have zero respect for the King of Hell, which wasn't surprising. In fact, he didn't have much respect for anyone. Placing his hands on his hips, Balthazar glared at Crowley, anticipating some half-hearted or sarcastic excuse for his appearance in the nightclub. Brady continued pouring out drinks regardless, but mostly to avoid eye contact with the other demon, while Dean took on a similar pose to Balthazar and Cas stood awkwardly beside him. Realising that he had to at least try and explain himself, the superior demon addressed the matter.

"That Naomi lass and I had a thing once, so I'd say that counts. And you" – he pointed an accusing finger at Dean – "seem to be conveniently forgetting that I was the one who told you and the angel you are so ludicrously affiliated with about this nightclub in the first place."

"Actually, I think you'll find that was Sam."

"No, that was Sammy." Castiel and Dean retorted respectively, more than a hint of sass creeping into the angel's voice in particular. Scoffing, the King of Hell carried on.

"Moose stole my thunder! Honestly, can I not have one drink in peace?" Crowley asked rhetorically, raising his eyebrows, clearly exasperated at the pure nerve and hostility of the company in which he currently resided.

"Fine." Reluctantly accepting his presence, Balthazar sighed. "But only for a little while; we have more important guests to attend to." Although the King of Hell appeared to disregard the angel's insolence, he highly disliked not being the sassiest person in the room for once, so decided to do something about it…

* * *

><p>After a few hours, the manager of the nightclub was dancing precariously on top of one of the circular tables, splashing champagne everywhere from the omnipresent glass in his hand and singing at the top of his lungs. 'My Heart Will Go On' had just started playing on the jukebox (for which Dean was a major suspect), so the angel was likely to get rowdier from there on in. Meanwhile, Brady was still serving and pouring drinks out, all the more embarrassed due to the antics of his business partner. In spite of everything, Crowley was still seated in his barstool, observing the ridiculous-looking hedonist, clearly amused by his drunken clowning around. Dean was flirting with the ladies, laughing heartily at any joke he made as they swarmed around him while Castiel glared at him disapprovingly. The infamous Celine Dion song had just reached the chorus, so the man stood on the table shouted at Brady to increase the volume. When Brady refused, the angel simply increased his own volume.<p>

"NEEEEAR FAAAAAAAAAR WHEREEEEEEVER YOU AAAAAAAAAAARE – Come on, everyone sing along! – AND I KNOOOOOW THAT MY HEEEEEEEART WILL GO OOOOOOOON…" Balthazar was more yelling rather than singing; it was too out of tune to be counted as singing anyhow.

"Bloody hell." Crowley complained, putting his fingers in his ears. "If I'd have known the fool would act up this badly, I wouldn't have spiked his dr- I mean, I wouldn't have come." The King of Hell glanced around briefly to see if anyone had heard him; however the music (and Balthazar, of course) was far too loud for him to be heard above. At that moment, the angel leapt off the table, stumbling as he hit the ground. He sauntered over to a random customer and, putting his arm around him, began to chat.

"Do you know," Balthazar slurred his speech that severely, his words were barely legible. "That awful Celine Dion isn't as bad as I thought. I like this song… It really shows the romance between Leo DiCaprio and what's-her-face, Ruby? Rosalind? Raphael?" For some reason, the angel found that absolutely hilarious and doubled over laughing hysterically. When he straightened up, he scanned the club for someone else to converse with. Disastrously, the first person he laid eyes on was Crowley, so he started staggering over to him as the King of Hell tried his best not to acknowledge him. It's safe to say it didn't work.

"Well if it isn't the good old King o' Hell!" Slapping the demon on the back (rather painfully, might I add), Balthazar grinned, utterly intoxicated. The next moment, the smile fell right off his face as he leaned in towards Crowley, gesturing for him to do the same. The demon sighed however still leaned in; keeping his face as far away from the angel's as possible without offending him. Despite his ultimate inebriation, Crowley knew the angel would smite him in a heartbeat if he annoyed him. Balthazar began to whisper when he was satisfied. "You and I should get to know each other better, you know, sexually." He hiccupped halfway through the last word, which completely eradicated the sincere effect the angel was attempting to create.

"You're off your rocker." The King of Hell stated as he shoved Balthazar away from him, but not so hard that he would be inclined to fight back. The angel continued speaking, nevertheless.

"In fact, I would sleep with all of you!" Teetering backwards, Balthazar almost collapsed in a heap before Dean and Castiel teleported to either side of him, catching him just in time. The angel tilted his head towards Cas a second before he threw up all over his best friend's spotless trench coat, instantaneously closing his eyes and falling fast asleep. Even angels sleep easily when drunk.


	5. Chapter 5: Panic! At The Nightclub

When Balthazar finally awoke in the early afternoon of the next day, he found himself lying on top of the sheets of his own comfortable bed in his room in the flat he had been sharing with Brady for three, nearly four years now. Analysing the position of the sheets and himself – clearly neither had moved in twelve hours at least – he figured someone, likely Brady, had dumped him there the previous night (this was, in fact, incorrect; after having his clothes be puked all over and asking around to find out where his friend's flat was situated, Castiel and Dean had transported the angel back to his room, not wanting him to be taken advantage of, however unlikely that may seem, and being the pleasant and altruistic people they are). Balthazar scratched his head through his massively tousled hair and sat up, groaning in pain from his pounding headache and desperately trying to stimulate his memory of last night. The final thing he remembered was the arrival of Crowley and chatting with Cas; everything past that point was ambiguous. _Wow_, he thought. _I must have been well and truly plastered._

Contemplating his situation for a moment, the angel realised the best thing to do was to find his flatmate and interrogate him on the night's events. Only then could he begin to consider socialising with anyone else. But first, he needed a wash. Lurching out of bed and stumbling towards the general area of the bathroom, Balthazar had to pause and lean against the door post before he got much further. The room, well, the entire hallway was spinning uncontrollably, causing him to be extremely unsteady on his feet. The angel felt a sudden heave in his stomach (or rather his vessel's stomach), therefore dashed hastily to the toilet, disregarding his dizziness. Leaning over the bowl, his shaky hands gripping either side of the seat, Balthazar threw up once again. After he felt more than empty, he managed to drag himself up off the floor and over to the sink, proceeding to haphazardly splash his face with cold water in the hope of sobering himself up. Balthazar lifted his head up and caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror, fully perceiving his dishevelled appearance: his beloved V-neck shirt was smothered in rips and frankly perturbing stains; his hair was a bird's nest, speaking delicately, and his eyes were red and puffy. Despite all this, the angel knew he had an underlying sense of attractiveness that everyone found irresistible. Plus, he'd probably looked far worse the night before.

After hopping in the shower for a minute and grabbing a change of clothes – which, to be honest, was the exact same outfit, just a freshly laundered one – Balthazar headed out the door and over to the club to see if Brady was there, since he was nowhere to be seen in the flat. He figured the demon was likely too humiliated at his business partner's antics to be seen in public with him anytime in the near future. Quite honestly, he didn't blame him.

"Oh no…" The angel muttered when he reached 'Heaven and Hell.' The sight before him was certainly face-palm-worthy. First of all, half of the bulbs in the sign had been smashed to pieces, some shards of which were lying neglected on the ground in front of the door. The door itself was hanging open from its hinges, as if for dear life, which was definitely not a good sign. Tentatively side-stepping through the broken entrance, Balthazar continued to investigate the extent of the damage inside, where, little did he know, it was far worse than anticipated. Tables and chairs were upturned, strewn across the dance floor which was coated in a layer of yet more broken glass, but this time from bottles of alcohol, which also lay in derelict puddles in intervals across the room.

"Damn it." Balthazar cursed yet again as he stumbled upon a giant phrase of lime green graffiti plastered right along the back wall of the nightclub. It read: _GABE WOZ 'ERE_. Not bearing to see anymore vandalism – some of which may have been caused by the nightclub owner himself – the angel instantly rushed out of the place, refusing to look back as the sight of his beloved life's work in such turmoil renewed his nausea. However, instead of his wishes of avoiding social situations being granted, he bumped into Dean and Castiel, who looked vaguely ticked off and reluctant to converse with him. Well, the feeling was mutual.

"Oh well if it isn't the party animal. I have to say, I'm surprised to see your butt out of your stinking pit so early." Dean greeted the angel with an off-hand attitude, as was the norm for him, especially since he'd become a demon.

"Dean…" Castiel gave Dean a significant look, a warning note creeping into his voice. The sub-tone seemed to say 'I'll handle this.' Dean sighed, but nodded slightly, agreeing to keep quiet and let Cas do the talking, which was unusual for them.

"How are you feeling, Balthazar?" The concerned angel asked, his voice now softer and caring.

"You mean apart from the dreadful hangover? Oh, darling, I'm peachy." Balthazar's infamous sarcasm ensured he didn't miss a beat. "Never mind that, I'm looking for Brady. You haven't happened to have seen him around, have you?"

A crease appeared between Castiel's eyebrows as he frowned in thought and worry. "Now that you mention it, we haven't seen him since last night."

"Yeah, last we heard he'd gotten himself pretty smashed too. Was prank-calling Sammy, would you believe." Dean added, glancing over at Cas for acceptance. Castiel replied with a small smile.

"Ah. Okay. Well, thanks anyway. I guess I'll see you around." Before the duo had chance to reply, Balthazar teleported back to the flat to double check, or to see if Brady had arrived while he was gone. He hadn't. After the angel had checked, double checked and triple checked every single one of the rooms and questioned the landlady, there was still absolutely no sign of the demon, or inclination as to where he might have disappeared off to. Brady was gone.

* * *

><p><em>Every night in my dreams… I see you, I feel you…<em> One of Balthazar's pockets began emitting a faint, tinny song. The angel paused, confused before hastily patting his clothes, desperately trying to target the source of the irritating Celine Dion hit. Hearing and contemplating the torturous record stimulated a particularly embarrassing memory of last night for Balthazar:

"_NEEEEAR FAAAAAAAAAR WHEREEEEEEVER YOU AAAAAAAAAAARE – Come on, everyone sing along!... Do you know… That awful Celine Dion isn't as bad as I thought."_

Groaning, the angel couldn't bear to think what other terribly humiliating things he had done, though he was fairly sure that complimenting the singer of that dreadful Titanic song was probably the worst outcome of his inebriation. Snapping out of his thoughts, Balthazar realised the sound was coming from his suit jacket pocket, which was where he kept his cell phone._ Strange_, he thought as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the caller ID, which was even stranger. The caller ID was _Sexy_. Internally freaking out, the angel wondered if he had, in fact, had a one night stand. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time, but it was rare they called back the next day with a disturbing caller ID. He realised he would find out soon enough, so, after a moment of hesitation, he pressed the answer button.

"…Yes?" Balthazar asked rather impatiently after a second of silence from the other end of the line.

"Hello, darling. Remember me?" A gruff and slightly seductive cockney accent sounded from the receiver. The angel remembered, alright. It was Crowley. Balthazar sighed, tired of the demon's tendency to hang about and annoy people just for the sake of it.

"What do you want? I'm rather busy at the mo', so I don't exactly have time for your-"

"If you'd like to see your little demon friend alive again, then I suggest you shut your mouth and start listening, Feathers. Because otherwise… Well, let's just say the only light at the end of the tunnel he'll be seeing is hellfire. For eternity." The King of Hell dragged out his words slowly and deliberately in order to sound more threatening, which worked perfectly. Although Balthazar thought of himself as far superior to the petty demon, and couldn't care less about threats towards him, he was concerned about Brady's well-being. However, the angel's pride and dignity prevented him from showing that concern.

"And you think I care about that, why, exactly?" He regretted his words the second they left his mouth.

"Oh, you don't? My mistake. So I suppose you won't mind if I do this, then…" Over the phone, Balthazar could hear protestations and muffled screaming that could only be on Brady's behalf. He assumed Crowley had begun carving into the demon in many imaginative ways, as holy water would be like cutting off his nose to spite the rest of his face, what with him being a demon too. There would be a risk of harming himself, and Balthazar figured the King of Hell was far too self-obsessed and vain to allow even a slight chance of that. Sighing again, yet somewhat more agitatedly this time, the angel interrupted the torture of his flatmate.

"Okay, that's enough. You can stop now, Crowley. I said stop!" Balthazar practically yelled into his phone. He wasn't sure if the King of Hell would quit – he was likely enjoying it too much – but, sure enough, the screams ceased and Crowley's voice resumed being the main sound on the line.

"So you do care about the little rascal. Interesting. Well, if you'd like to continue our negotiations, do pop in to see us. I'll sext you the address. Cheerio." The line went dead.

"Damn it! Bloody demons." The angel came extremely close to smashing his phone on the pavement before realising that wouldn't do much good, since the address of where Brady was being held hostage was fundamental to him. Instead, he reluctantly waited until his phone beeped to alert him to the anticipated text from Crowley. Glancing briefly at the message, Balthazar instantaneously teleported to the location, knowing there was no other option, yet was aware of the angel blade (which worked more than adequately on demons also) on the inside of his jacket.

On arrival, the angel found himself outside an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, similar to the one which the King of Hell and the Winchesters had tied Brady up in soon before Sam had stabbed the demon. That was, of course, when Crowley had been the mere King of the Crossroads, and Balthazar hadn't seen the place himself, he was just going by his flatmate's description. Deciding not to waste any more time than was necessary, the angel strolled inside, rather confidently, despite his situation. The front of the house was completely empty, aside from a thick layer of dust and a few rats scuttling about, therefore Balthazar headed to the basement, presuming that was the place his newfound nemesis and the closest thing to a friend he had resided. He wasn't wrong. There, in the centre of a concrete room, sat Brady, shackled to a chair in a perfect devil's trap, entirely unharmed with the exception of his mouth being all taped up and a deep gash engraved into his chest, which Balthazar guessed was the extent of the torture from the phone call, judging by the freshness of the blood. Perched on an unstable wooden worktop, looking rather bored, as if he had been waiting for days, and lovingly carrying an angel blade, was the King of Hell himself. He slid off the bench and straightened up as soon as he saw Balthazar.

"Ah, the drunken angel from on high. How nice of you to visit." Crowley greeted him in his usual sardonic manner, smiling innocently; angelically, even. The angel decided to keep his couldn't-care-less attitude, as he knew that acting scared wouldn't get him anywhere and would only amuse the sadistic demon.

"Well I'm glad you think so, darling. Being in your vile presence wasn't exactly at the top of my 'to do' list." Balthazar returned Crowley's smile, all the more sarcastically. Despite appearing to completely disregard his cutting comment, the King of Hell tutted disapprovingly at the angel's attitude, which was ironic due to the fact that it wasn't entirely different from his own.

"I'm hurt. You said quite the opposite to me last night." Crowley revelled in the flash of fear in Balthazar's eyes, knowing the angel wouldn't remember much of the previous night's events, which put the King of Hell at a wonderful advantage. However, the angel soon regained what was left of his dignity, his expression hardening in hatred of the former crossroads demon. He changed tactics, aware of his disadvantage, moving on to the subject of the situation at hand.

"Can we just get this over with? I'm bored already. There are so many more exciting things I could be doing right now instead of being stuck here with you." Squinting his eyes warily, Crowley stepped forward, placing his angel (and also, conveniently, demon-killing) blade to Brady's neck and gazing up at Balthazar to catch his reaction. He wasn't disappointed: although the angel tried his best to remain stoic and apathetic, he couldn't prevent a glint of fear from showing in his eye. The King of Hell and Balthazar stared at each other for a minute before the King spoke.

"What? You said you wanted to get it over with. You're not seriously telling me you expected to whizz in here, grab your boyfriend and leave without me noticing or without there being consequences? Wow, you really do have your head in the clouds. If you'll pardon the pun.

"Anyway. I'd like to make a proposition." _Here we go_, thought the angel, internally shaking his head. It was bad enough hearing about Crowley's ridiculous schemes, especially when he was working with dear Cassie a few years ago without being part of them. But Balthazar figured he'd string him along either way. It wasn't like there was another way out of it.

"Go on, then."

Grinning devilishly, the demon continued. "Thirty per cent. Nightclub." Balthazar gestured impatiently for Crowley to go on. He didn't, preferring to keep the angel in the dark for a little while longer, enjoying the confusion on his face.

"What, are we speaking in mono-syllables now or something? Speak English, would you, dear?" Smirking, the former crossroads demon reluctantly obeyed.

"I'm asking you for thirty per cent profit from the successful little business you and Chuckles here have got going on. Then, maybe, he can go free and you can go back to being happy little co-operative supernatural beings." Crowley stated, motioning towards Brady with the knife, from which the demon tilted his head away.

"Are you kidding me?"

"No, I'm adulting you." The King of Hell replied in the sassiest tone Balthazar had ever heard (aside from himself, of course). After a moment of puzzled silence and Crowley staring expectantly at the angel, the demon spoke.

"Well? What's it gonna be, Feathers?" Not having a back-up plan, Balthazar sighed yet again before reluctantly nodding his head.

"Sorry, what was that? I can't quite hear your submission."

"Yes, okay. Fine. You can have thirty per cent profit. Just let Brady go."

"That's better. But you can get him out yourself. I'll be in touch." Raising his eyebrows, Crowley subsequently vanished, leaving Brady still shackled to the chair in the devil's trap, his mouth covered in duct tape and Balthazar furious as hell.

"Son of a gun! Is he always like that?" Soon realising his flatmate couldn't reply due to the tape, the angel ripped it off. Brady winced in pain and flexed his jaw before speaking.

"Pretty much."

* * *

><p>Half an hour or so later, Balthazar and Brady were back in action. After escaping the farmhouse (which was surprisingly easy – Balthazar was convinced that the King of Hell had laid out some Enochian sigils or more devil's traps to prevent the pair from leaving, however that wasn't the case for once), the flatmates returned to their flat for a short wash, then decided to go back to the nightclub, which was definitely NOT Balthazar's idea – Brady just wanted to see the state it was in, clearly not expecting it to be half as bad as it actually was. Teleporting there, Balthazar cringed with his eyes closed, preparing for Brady's inevitably heartbroken reaction.<p>

"Wow. I mean you told me it was bad, but it's practically non-existent." Utterly perplexed, the angel opened his eyes, and was completely baffled by what he saw. Brady wasn't exaggerating: the nightclub literally was no longer there. Judging by the amount of ashes that replaced the building and the smoke rising from said ashes, the club had been burned down.

"No, no, no, no, no, not this! Not now, not after…" Balthazar paced up and down the street rapidly in despair before dashing over to where his beloved 'Heaven and Hell' once stood and fondling the ashes in a grieving manner. Without warning, he froze, and then rose up slowly, a sudden thought dawning in his mind. The angel glared at Brady and teleported right in front of him, violating the demon's personal space almost as much as Castiel.

"This is your doing, isn't it? Azazel, back from the dead, burning down our club because you were sick of it – sick of me? What I'd like to know is if you called him up when you were drunk or sober!" Grabbing the front of the demon's shirt, Balthazar shoved him violently against the wall of the alleyway next to the burned-down nightclub, practically frothing with fury.

"What?! Are you insane? Azazel is dead and you know it! And even if he wasn't, why the hell would I do a thing like that?!" Brady desperately tried to explain himself to his flatmate, admittedly frightened by his sudden outburst.

"Hmm… You're right. I'm sorry, this was just… unexpected, see?" Letting go of the demon, Balthazar turned away to almost bump into Dean and Castiel once again, yet Cas looked somewhat more annoyed with his 'friend' this time, with Dean's arm in his solid clutches and Dean's face a mixture of anger, frustration and shame.

"Ah, Cassie." Balthazar spat out his friend's name like it was poison. "I'm guessing you have an idea about how my BLOODY CLUB GOT BURNED TO THE GROUND?!"

"Yes. About that…" The innocent angel aggressively let go of Dean's arm, driving the demon forward. Everyone turned to glare at Dean, expecting an explanation.

"Look, I'm a demon now. You can't expect me to hear Cas complaining about the atmosphere of your… club… and do nothing!" He looked rather embarrassed as Balthazar sighed, looking at Castiel, who simply shrugged.

"So, you're basically saying that you went on a murderous rampage, but instead of killing anyone, you completely and utterly wrecked my life's work. Well that's just great." At that moment, Crowley decided to put in an appearance again, at the worst possible moment for him.

"Hello boy- Whoa, steady on there! This is precious cargo." The King of Hell protested as Balthazar decided it was Crowley's turn to have the front of his suit grabbed.

"You put Dean up to this, didn't you? Told him to ruin my nightclub after you let Brady and me go. I knew there'd be a catch, there always is with your kind." Balthazar seethed, infuriated by the demon's antics, despite having no proof of him actually doing anything.

"What's that supposed to mean? And do all of you always immediately blame me for your own misfortunes? Actually, don't answer that. Clearly I was mistaken in coming here. Exit stage Crowley." The former crossroads demon disappeared again. The remaining people all stared at Balthazar, worried about what the unpredictable angel would do next. He simply took a calming breath and spoke to his little gathering.

"Well, there's no way I'm making that nightclub again. I put my heart and soul into it last time. Literally. Come along, Brady. Let's just leave it to someone else to clear up Dean's mess. I feel like shopping." A horrified look spread across Brady's features as the pair subsequently vanished. Dean and Cas hesitated, in shock, before simultaneously turning to look at each other.

"Man, you pick the weirdest friends." Dean commented, shaking his head as they began walking in the opposite direction. And that was that.


End file.
